


nothing gold can stay

by andibeth82



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Also Fury and Carol are still BFF and you can fight me on that, First Meetings, Honestly I have so many feelings for Fury getting everyone into SHIELD, Recruitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: You've always had a good head on your shoulders, Nick, his mother told him when he agonized over an army recruitment package, trying to decide whether he should enlist as opposed to staying at home and helping his family.Your choices always benefit the people you care about, even if you don't realize it.[Four people Nick Fury recruited for SHIELD, and one he didn't have to recruit at all.]





	nothing gold can stay

**Author's Note:**

> You should all know I have a soft spot for early SHIELD days, so naturally, during most of Captain Marvel, I sat there thinking "how did Fury recruit everyone else and what did he learn from Carol?"

At four thirty-seven Eastern Standard Time, Nick Fury steps into the elevator bank and is greeted by a nondescript-looking white male, who smiles at him as he enters.

Fury smiles back, hitting a button on the keypad. He notices that the man is wearing a large hanging badge with the word VISITOR emblazoned across the front and against his better judgement, he finds himself intrigued.

“New here?”

“Oh.” The man, who has been staring straight ahead at the elevator doors, looks a little startled that he’s been addressed. “No, not exactly. I’m interviewing. Got an appointment in ten minutes with a Laura Miller in accounting.” He glances over at Fury and offers a short smile. “Not really sure why I’m here since I don’t like working with numbers much, but I guess my application test was pretty good, because they called me in.”

“Mmmhmm.” Fury hits the button for the 23rd floor, noticing the man is going to 15. “Well, best of luck to you with the interview.”

“Phil Coulson,” the man says quickly, before realizing that he’s offered up his name for apparently no reason. He winces, suddenly looking uncomfortable despite his otherwise put-together appearance. “Sorry. I thought you were going to ask for my name, so I just kind of went with it. Interview nerves, I guess.”

“Coulson,” Fury repeats, more amused than offended that this over-eager stranger has made more small talk in fifteen seconds than most SHIELD agents do in one day “I’m Fury. Nice to meet you.”

“You’ve got a nice place here,” Coulson continues as the elevator pings, announcing its arrival at floor 15. “Really great security, too. Nice to meet you, Mr. Fury.”

Fury replays the conversation in his mind as the doors close and the elevator continues to climb, stopping again on the 23rd floor. He steps off and walks briskly in the direction of Director Hawley’s office, hesitating only when he gets to the small enclosed waiting room with high windows that overlook most of Manhattan’s skyline.

“Agent Fury,” a chilly voice calls from the other side of the wall.

“Director Hawley.” Fury steps inside the office, understanding he’s now allowed to enter. “You wanted to see me.”

“Yes.” Hawley is sitting in her desk chair, straight backed and formal, long blonde hair sloping past her bent head. At his words, she looks up and clears her throat, steel-blue eyes fixating on his own. “I wanted to thank you for your timeliness in getting me the Budapest reports. I’ve signed off on all the appropriate intel, and I’d like you to keep a copy for your records.” She nods towards a folder sitting on the edge of the table and Fury picks it up, nodding back.

“Thank you, Director.”

He’s about to leave when he notices another folder, a pale blue one with the words _CANDIDATES - CONFIDENTIAL_ written on the front in thick black ink.

“Apologies for intruding, Director, but are we hiring?”

Hawley's eyes slot into narrow lines as she looks up again. “I don’t normally share personnel information with my staff, Agent Fury. But since you seem to be more astute than usual, yes. The World Security Council seems to think we need another body on our team and frankly, considering that my missions are piling up faster than I can assign them, I’m inclined to agree.” She pauses, pressing her fingers into the mahogany table. “Rest assured, we value your experience and remain impressed with your work so far. Your job will remain non-compromised. Whoever we hire will be working with you and below you, not above you.”

Fury finds himself smiling at the compliment. “Thank you Director. I appreciate that. Any prospects?”

Hawley sighs, clearly annoyed that he can’t seem to drop the subject. “A few. SHIELD has sent over a list of the Academy’s finest graduates for consideration. I’m confident we’ll find someone.”

Fury takes that as his cue to leave and starts to make his way towards the door. Before he can fully escape, though, a nagging feeling in his gut causes him to turn back.

“Director Hawley.” He knows he’s already overstepped his boundaries, so he doesn’t wait for her to answer before he continues. “In addition to these recruits, I'd like to throw another hat into the ring, if I may. A man named Phil Coulson. He’s currently interviewing at SHIELD for a position in accounting, but it’s my opinion that he’d be much better suited for field work.”

“Coulson,” Hawley repeats, grabbing a pen and scribbling on a thick notepad. “You can vouch for this candidate?”

“I can,” Fury answers confidently, and it’s only after he speaks that he realizes how silly he’s being. He’d barely spent one full minute with the man he’d just recommended to his boss and if anything went wrong, his head could be on the chopping block in more ways than one.

“Thank you, Agent Fury.” Hawley’s voice is clipped and her tone clearly signals that the conversation is over, no matter what else Fury wants to say. He walks out of the office, heading to the elevator bank, and thinks about making a stop at the 15th floor just for kicks. In the end, he decides to go to the ground floor instead.

 _You've always had a good head on your shoulders,_ his mother told him when he agonized over an army recruitment package, trying to decide whether he should enlist as opposed to staying at home and helping his family. _Your choices always benefit the people you care about, even if you don't realize it._

"Excuse me," Fury says, approaching the security guard at the front desk. He pulls out his wallet, selecting four bills and holding them out. "Would you mind giving this to a visitor by the name of Phil Coulson, when he checks back in to return his badge? Tell him it's from a friend he met in the elevator -- a coffee on me."

 

* * *

 

The good thing about stake-outs, boring as they are, is that at least there’s consistency. It’s something Fury’s come to appreciate at SHIELD, given that most of his more “exciting” missions often involve sitting, waiting, assessing, and gathering intel.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, sir,” Coulson admits, as if he’s just decided to voice his opinion despite the fact they’ve been sitting in the car together for over a day. “I read his file. Barton’s got a history of defensive reactions. This could go sideways.”

“We’re not trying to arrest him,” Fury replies, keeping his eyes trained on the shady apartment complex. “We’re just trying to talk to him.”

“All the same.” Coulson looks uncomfortable. “I’d feel better if you’d let me get your back on this one. Just in case.”

Fury lets out a sigh. “Barton is a criminal and a rogue assassin who has a surprising knack for tracking down some of the world’s most elusive scumbags. He’s not a superpowered alien or a Skrull. I don’t think this is going to call for any back-up.”

“So then why did you take me along?” Coulson asks in confusion, clearly stumped. Fury smiles at him and winks with one eye.

“So you can watch.”

He opens the car door as a tall figure steps out of the building, immediately turning away from the street and into a nearby alley. Fury checks his watch, keeping his movements casual, and notes the time -- 10:07; Barton’s daily smoke break usually occurred between 10:05 and 10:15, directly after his morning coffee run.

“Excuse me.”

Clint Barton turns around with a scowl, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Yeah,” he mutters gruffly. “Whaddya want?”

“I was hoping you could help me find someone -- name’s Clint Barton. You heard of him?”

Barton’s eyes narrow and Fury watches his shoulders strain as the muscles clench up. He can almost see the thoughts flying through his mind, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it decision that will make the difference between trust and defense.

“Who’s asking?”

“Me,” Fury says as Barton laughs, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah, and who are you?”

“NIck Fury.” It’s the point where he’d normally reach for his badge, but he knows that in Barton’s case, showing any kind of law enforcement will only result in either a punch to the face or a runaway recruit. As it is, Clint seems to hold himself a little more tensely, looking wary, even though Fury knows he can’t possibly know who he is.

“You got a job for me or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I may.” He offers a pointed look with one eye. “That is, if you’re interested.”

Clint removes the cigarette from his mouth and gestures towards the street. “You know I have a partner.”

“I know,” Fury says smoothly. “And with all due respect, I’d like you.”

“ _Why_?”

Fury raises an eyebrow at the startled, harsh response. “You’ve made a name for yourself, Mr. Barton.” He pauses, allowing the words to sink in. “You have skills that I think would benefit the type of work I’m looking to use you for.”

Clint eyes him, looking a little disgruntled, and sticks the cigarette back in his mouth. He takes a long drag, glancing up at the decrepit building. “Look, Mr. Fury. I appreciate the cold call, but I don’t just accept jobs. _And_ I don’t just decide to work for people -- people work for _me_. Also, the work I do? It’s damn fucking good. So my price is high.”

“I can pay it,” Fury replies without hesitation, and he notices that as soon as he says the words, Clint seems to show a little more interest, his stance relaxing in a show of minimal trust.

“Details.”

“Not here,” Fury answers. “This work is classified. But since you’re interested, you can contact me.” He hands over a small business card, which Clint takes with two fingers. Holding it up to the light to read the writing on the cardstock, he frowns, muttering out of the side of his mouth through a haze of smoke.

“SHIELD. What the fuck is SHIELD?”

Fury smiles. “Have a good day, Mr. Barton.”

He walks away confidently, not bothering to turn back around until he knows he’s well hidden behind a pay phone bank. As he gets back into the car, Coulson throws up his hands in clear frustration.

“You’re just going to leave him? After all that?”

“I gave him a card,” Fury says mildly. “ If he doesn’t call, I’ll come back here in a week, and we’ll reassess. But I’m pretty sure he’ll call.” He watches Clint stick the card in his pocket, snuff out his cigarette, and walk back into the building. “He usually stays on the move, given his criminal history, but he’s got some people he knows here -- _and_ he’s got some girl he’s currently shacking up with. That means he’ll stay around for a few more days until work shows up, which is enough time for him to come around.”

Coulson stares out the window, rubbing a palm over his forehead. “I’m not so sure, sir.”

“I am,” Fury says as he starts the car. “I know a renegade soldier when I see one.”

 

* * *

 

“You wanted to see me, sir.”

Fury looks up as Natasha Romanoff peers into his office, bright red hair sliding into half of his vision. He extends a hand; god knows he shouldn’t have taken to one of the country’s deadliest killers so quickly but ever since she’d been brought in, he hadn’t been able to ignore the pull of feeling like it was his responsibility to provide her with some sort of guidance.

“Miss Romanoff. Please come in.”

Natasha enters slowly. As she gets closer, Fury gets a better look at her and notices there’s a dark bruise circling her left eye as well as lacerations along her arms that appear disturbingly fresh in the bright lights of the office.

“You’re training hard,” he observes as she sits down, trying to hide the wince that he figures might be a bruised tailbone or maybe a pulled tendon.

“Yes,” she replies sharply, and Fury instantly sees the Red Room conditioning that’s probably still working its way out of her system. “I like going hard.”

“I know you do.” Fury leans forward on his elbows. “Can I ask how you’ve liked working with Barton?”

Natasha pauses in thought and then shrugs. “He’s okay,” she says, keeping her voice level. “He’s very good at what he does. He’s also annoying, and I hate when he laughs.”

Fury bites down on a smile. “You’re not alone in thinking that,” he says, and it works -- Natasha’s lips twitch upwards ever so slightly, the hint of a break in her stoic demeanor. “You’ve been with us a few months now, Romanoff, and I think it’s time we put you on a path.”

“Am I...not on a path already, sir?” Natasha combs a hand through her tangled hair, the tell of a nervous tic.

“You’re doing good work,” Fury replies. “Very good work. But I have bigger things in mind for you. I want you and Barton to continue to work together on some higher level SHIELD missions -- and I want you to start working together officially as partners.”

“No.”

Fury regards her carefully. “Why not?”

Natasha meets his gaze head on, challenging him with a dark stare. “Because I don’t work well with others.”

“I disagree,” Fury answers, not breaking their eye contact. “Your activity reports show that working with Barton, you have the fastest progress rate of any recent SHIELD recruit, and I want to take advantage of that.”

“So you want to discipline me?” Natasha asks perfunctorily, the snark evident in her tone.

Fury shakes his head. “No. I want to _change_ that.”

Natasha looks around the room, her eyes traveling over the framed certificates and high ceilings and cabinets of folders until they land back on his face. “You’ve never asked me about this before,” she says suspiciously. “Why are you coming to me now?”

“Everything takes time.” Fury smiles again, this time allowing himself to show the emotion. “But I believe in you, Miss Romanoff. And I’m willing to give you and Barton the push you need to become more valuable to SHIELD -- if you want.”

Natasha shifts in her chair, as if she can’t decide which person she wants to be in this moment -- Natalia Romanova of the Red Room, stone-cold killer who doesn’t respect authority, or Natasha Romanoff of SHIELD, hopeful recruit who might have a future if she obeys the rules. She finally nods.

“Good,” Fury says, pride and relief swelling inside his chest. “I’ll send you some mission briefs in the next few days. In the meantime, feel free to get some rest. You don’t _need_ to be at the gym every hour of the day, you know.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “I’ve heard rumors,” she says, as if she’s trying to goad him. “Of how you lost your eye. If I’m going to work on these missions for you, I’d like to know the truth.”

Fury chuckles under his breath. “I’m afraid that’s classified information, Miss Romanoff. But I _do_ know Barton has a pool going, so perhaps you should put a bet in. You never know how lucky you might get.”

Natasha glares at him as she gets up, walking towards the door. “One day, I’ll learn all your secrets,” she declares as she leaves the office, slamming the door behind her. Fury smiles as he spins around in his chair, letting his eyes settle on the vast blue sky.

“One day,” he echoes to the room. “One day, Romanoff, you’ll learn them all.”

 

* * *

 

On a hot summer day during a break from SHIELD duty, Nick Fury meets Maria Hill in a coffee shop in the middle of the Chicago Loop.

She arrives five minutes early, looking crisp and professional, her hair loosely cascading across her shoulders, perfectly manicured hands holding a briefcase. As soon as she sits down, she takes out her resume and slides it across the table without saying so much as a hello.

“I was going to ask if I could buy you coffee,” Fury opens, taken aback by the strict formality. “But if you’d like to get into the nitty gritty right away, we can go ahead.”

Maria gestures to her resume. “I thought this was a job interview.”

“It is,” Fury acknowledges. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite and offer you coffee first, right?”

Maria cracks a small smile as Fury signals for the waitress, ordering two hot coffees when she walks over.

“I know it’s unusual for us to recruit out of state,” he says by way of introduction. “But I hope you’ll hear me out.”

“It’s also unusual for an organization to seek me out years after I’ve left the Academy,” Maria replies smartly, and Fury has to concede that she’s not wrong. “But I trust that you have a reason for wanting to meet.”

“I do,” Fury answers. “I wanted to try Chicago pizza. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be better than New York, but I don’t quite believe that.”

Maria laughs shortly. “I’m Chicago born and bred, so I don’t have much room to judge. And I’ve never been to New York.”

“So your resume states.” Fury looks down at the piece of paper Maria has given him. “Miss Hill, I have a position I’m hiring for, and it requires...a little more open-mindedness than what I’d get from the normal pool of SHIELD agents.”

“So you came all the way to Chicago to try a field office?” Maria asks sarcastically.

“The Bahrain case,” Fury continues, as if Maria hasn’t spoken, watching the muscles in her jawline constrict. “Lian May spoke very highly of you.”

Maia lets out a long exhale, picking up the coffee that’s just arrived on the table. “How does that make me qualified for this job?”

Fury picks up his own coffee. “I’m aware that my recruitment methods are slightly unorthodox, but I tend to be quite good at knowing who I need in order to keep this organization running. I need to work with someone who won’t question me but who will raise concerns when it matters. I need to work with someone who will put SHIELD first but who will also understand that sometimes, exceptions to the rules can be made. I need someone who will help me train talented people but also understand that what they show on the surface is not always a measure of their worth as a human.” He stops to take a sip of coffee. “Most importantly, I need someone who will have my back when I can’t have it myself.”

Maria pushes a finger across the rim of her cup as she sits with his words. “You’re not even going to read my resume?”

“I did read it,” Fury says. “That’s why I came out here. And I already know that I’d like to work with you, so now I need you to tell me if you’re up for this job or not.”

He watches the struggle that she tries to hide -- the defiance, the questions, the laughter -- and he watches, impressed, as she easily dials back each conflicting emotion until her face is a mask of neutral agreement.

“When do I start?”

 

* * *

 

New York City is on fire.

It would be pretty, Fury thinks -- all that smoke and ash clouding the sky, mixed with the pink and yellow of sunset, the makings of an abstract painting -- it would be pretty _if_ he wasn’t so aware of how close they’d all almost come to being nuked...by his own damn organization, no less.

He’s chosen this particular roof, the one a few blocks away from Stark Tower, not only because it’s given him a good view of the city but because he can keep an eye on everything from above. He can see Stark and Pepper moving around in their half-destroyed house, various construction workers lifting beams as they work tirelessly to clean up the Chitauri’s mess. He can see Barton and Romanoff standing on the street dressed in civilian clothes, directing clean-up and removing piles of debris -- the least they figured they could do in the absence of everyone else being occupied with their own worries.

“You could’ve called.”

“I know,” he says with a long sigh. “But they had to figure it out for themselves.” He turns to meet Carol’s eyes, noticing how different she looks -- her hair is longer and though she hasn’t properly aged, there are lines on her forehead and around her eyes that Fury notices are more prominent. Her body looks the same, but there’s a distinct difference in the way she carries herself, a confidence that Fury knows has come with her finally being able to embrace every ounce of the person she was meant to be.

“It’s been awhile.”

“No shit.” She sits down next to him, her eyes surveying the damage. “I heard the news.”

Fury waves his hand at the sky. “You’re a little late on the uptake.”

“You _think_?” Carol gives him a look. “I gave you that pager for a reason.”

“Am I supposed to call an alien invasion a _reason_?” Fury shoots back. “It seemed like it fell a little lower on the scale than _intergalactic space battle_. Besides, we had it under control.”

“I can tell,” Carol replies dryly. She casts her gaze over the city, letting her body relax. “How did you find them?”

“Same way I found you,” Fury answers. “They came onto my radar, and I trusted my instincts. Some missteps along the way and a little bit of manipulation on my end, but I think it worked out pretty well. Don’t you?”

Carol doesn’t answer, drawing her knees up to her chest. “You trust too much,” she says finally. “All that trusting is going to get you killed one day. You should know better.”

“I appreciate the concern,” says Fury. “But right now, the only thing trust has given me is a bad eye and a cool secret story. And some really good soldiers.”

“Yeah, well.” Carol makes a face. “From what I’ve heard on the news, trust _also_ destroyed my favorite gym. So maybe you should think about that next time you let five kids handle a space army..”

“Duly noted.” Fury gives a mock salute and Carol rolls her eyes in response.

“How’s your eye?”

“How does it _look_?”

“Like it got clawed out by a flerken because you were being stupid.” Carol smirks, but the smile immediately drops off her face. “Nick, be honest with me. Was this really worth it? I mean, no offense, but they kind of destroyed New York.”

“New York will rebuild itself. Besides, sometimes you have to break something in order to put it back together.” Fury gives her a pointed stare. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Carol reaches into his coat pocket, withdrawing the pager and examining her own handiwork. “Not everything can be fixed by trust.”

“No,” Fury agrees. “You’re right about that. But if I can’t believe in the people who I placed my trust in, what good am I when it comes to teaching them how to trust each other? I won’t be in this world forever. I may not even last long enough to see another goddamn alien battle. Staying together is more important than how they stay together, and if the only thing they learn from me is that you can’t turn your back on the people you have faith in, I’ll feel like I did my job.”

Carol frowns, and Fury can tell she’s mulling over his words.

“How can you be so sure that’s the _right_ thing to believe?”

“Because.” Fury smiles. “I had you.”

Carol shakes her head. “That’s exactly why I worry about you.”

“And I worry about _you_ ,” Fury says, taking the pager back and putting it in his pocket. “Space is unforgiving.”

“Earth isn’t much better.”

“Right.” Fury shrugs. “So I guess we both need to watch each other’s backs.”

Carol smiles, nodding at his pocket. “It’s not a one time use thing,” she says. “But it _is_ for emergencies. Can you promise me that you’ll at least remember you have it? I’d hate to see you lose another eye.”

“Trust me, Danvers.” Fury puts a hand on her knee. “When the time comes, I’ll use it. You have my word.”

“Well, a promise from Nicholas J. Fury is better than nothing,” Carol mutters, glancing at him with narrowed eyes. “These kids -- the news is calling them The Avengers. Is that intentional?”

“Yes,” Fury says, watching as Carol’s eyes soften.

“So you named them after me?”

“I named them after someone who changed the course of my life for the better,” says Fury. “And I think they’re as proud to carry that name as I am to be their boss.”

Carol traces chewed up nails against the fabric of her suit, drawing lazy circles onto her thighs. “You called them soldiers,” she says slowly. “They’re not soldiers.”

“Not all of them.” Fury lets his gaze wander, his eyes landing on Stark, who is furiously moving some holograms with his fingers. “But they’re a team. And Earth needs a team, especially if it can’t have you.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Thanks for checking in, Carol.”

Carol smiles, reaching up and placing a palm on top of his.

“Thanks for the view, Nick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @isjustprogress.


End file.
